


Five Times Sophie Devereaux Attended Her Own Funeral and One Time She Didn't

by quid_felis



Category: Leverage
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff, Funeral, In theory this could have been sad but i promise it's funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quid_felis/pseuds/quid_felis
Summary: Sophie Devereaux has a bad habit of showing up where she probably shouldn't.
Relationships: Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	Five Times Sophie Devereaux Attended Her Own Funeral and One Time She Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to icarus902 for editing!!

**One:**

Laura Christie  
1966-1982

The young woman who would be Sophie Devereaux had made some mistakes. This wasn’t her first job, but it was the first time she’d struck out on her own. The con had gotten too big for her, and the mark had told her too much to let her slip away quietly. Laura Christie had been sloppy, and had to be let go. Permanently.

The funeral is well attended – Laura hadn’t been in London long, but she’d made a few friends along the way. None of them notice a young woman in a veil standing at the far end of the churchyard. She needs to see this, to know that people believe Laura is dead. It didn’t hurt to see people sobbing over the empty casket, either.

She steps out before they start lowering the coffin. It was time to move on, and any connections here would be too much of a risk after what happened on that job. Laura was gone, and it was time for someone new to take the stage.

**Two:**

Jenny Kroy  
1963-1998

Sophie Devereaux had slipped up a few times in the last 16 years, but this death had come for her. Prague had gone pear-shaped when a young insurance investigator stepped on one too many toes. He hadn’t caught her this time, but he’d gotten closer than anyone in a long time. Certainly closer than that Sterling fellow.

She stood in the midst of the crowd, makeup and acting giving her the air of Jenny’s bereaved sister. This group needed the nudge of someone close to make it believable – Jenny hadn’t been around long enough to build strong relationships. The speeches were sweet, if generic, and Sophie gave herself an impassioned, if fabricated, eulogy.

As the last of the mourners shuffle away with murmured condolences, someone else slips up behind her. He wears a well-fitted suit, and his breath smells of cigarettes.

“Not much of a turnout, is it?” His voice carries the slightest hint of sarcasm.

She turns to him, and almost smiles. “Well, Jenny wasn’t always the best at making friends. How did you know her, Mr. Starke?”

“We worked together not too long ago. I’d have liked to work with her again,” he says with a smirk.

“I’d offer my own services, but I work alone ever since my last boss turned out to be a cheating scoundrel.”

Starke is taken aback at the sudden hostility. “I did apologize for that, Miss… Devereaux, is it now? You know, I would work alone too, if I were as talented as you. But I’m sure you know, the biggest prizes take a team, and a mastermind.”

“How big could your prize be?” Sophie says, circling him to reach the path to the door.

“A Rousseau is being exhibited at Berlin Polytechnic. One job, in and out.”

“You’ll need more than that to get me in a room with you again by choice, Marcus.”

He thinks for a moment. “What if I could tell you who caused all this?” he says, gesturing at Jenny’s fresh grave. “You could take your revenge, or at least be on better guard next time.”

Sophie paused her maneuvering toward the exit. The insurance man wasn’t a threat yet, but he was smart. And more than smart, he was handsome. “A name could help, I suppose.”

“He works for IYS. His name is Nathan Ford.”

**Three:**

Katherine Clive  
1960-2009

This is the first time Sophie has killed an alias where she didn’t have to do it alone. The crew was able to handle the majority of the service with only a few hiccups, but her instincts were too strong to stay away from the burial.

“Not much of a turnout, is it?”

Nate jumps. “Jesus. You're dead, you're not supposed to care.”

Sophie pauses, thinking back on her various deaths and all the names she still goes by. “I mean, is this it? Huh? Buried in a stranger's grave, hardly any mourners.”

“It’s not you.”

“It is me. Well, at least, it's the me that anybody knows.”

They go back and forth. Nate doesn’t understand, but Sophie’s not sure she does either. When they’re interrupted, she steps back into the role of anonymous mourner in the scenery. She’s almost surprised to see Marcus Starke for the first time in 10 years, apparently here to pay his respects. Then again, the way that Berlin had gone, maybe she should have expected some revenge plot.

So many lives, so many choices that always come back to haunt her. Maybe it was time to put a few to rest and figure out who _she_ wanted to be.

**Four:**

Rebecca Ibanez  
1972-2010

This might not be the first time Sophie Devereaux has died, but it’s definitely the first time she’s died a martyr. The crowds weeping in the streets, the memorial in the parliament building, the 20 royal note and girls’ school… it’s all a bit much. And none of it requires her presence.

It wasn’t like Rebecca Ibanez had been an especially deep role – she’d invented the late almost-First Lady on the spot. But she’d been enough to steal the hearts of a nation, and as Sophie watched from the balcony, she couldn’t help but feel proud. She understands Nathan Ford a little better, she thinks. A martyr complex is a powerful thing.

When Nate suggests “a friendly drink” with a wink and a smile, she knows where the night might go. And just this once, she thinks it might not be the worst thing in the world for the Black King and Black Queen to have their fun.

**Five:**

Sophie Devereaux  
1966-2013

“Retired” actors, professional gamblers, and all other stripes of grifters, thieves, and con men have gathered to pay their respects to the best in the business. None of them are crying. This only a funeral in the legal sense – no one here believes Miss. Devereaux is actually deceased. But this is the last and biggest alias she had to shed on the way out of the business, and she wanted it to be special.

However, much to their surprise, no one can seem to find Sophie in the crowd. Murmurs spread, but Parker, Hardison, and Eliot manage to quiet everyone down as Father Paul moves to the front of the sanctuary, followed by Nathan Ford. Suddenly, the organist shifts songs, and the crowd of criminals understands what’s coming.

As the wedding march begins, the doors to the St. Nicholas Church swing open, and Sophie makes an entrance with all the drama she deserves. Nate sheds the first tears of the day as the love of his life walks down the aisle.

**\+ One:**

Charlotte Prentiss  
1966-2018

 _Beep_. Alec Hardison glances up from his research on Geoff Beesus, CEO of Nile Inc., to see a notification he never expected. Sophie – the crew still can’t help but call her Sophie – should have finished faking the deaths of all her aliases years ago. So why is the Daily Mail reporting the death of the Duchess of Hanover?

He calls Nate, and his former boss picks up the satellite phone with the sound of waves and seagulls in the background.

“I told you the last six times, I’m retired. No more ‘one last jobs,’ okay?”

“Sure, Nate, I got you. I just thought you might like to know that one Charlotte Prentiss, Duchess of Hanover, apparently died 3 months ago. And that the royal family tried to cover it up, if the tabloids can be trusted.”

“She _what_? Laura, dear, come here!”

Nate puts them on speakerphone. “Care to explain why Charlotte Prentiss died a few months ago?”

“Well, Nate, I just… well I thought it might be nice to have some peerage lying around when we finally decide to get off this–wait, did you say _died_?”

Hardison butts in before Nate can start a lecture about going straight. “Yeah, Sophie, The Sun, The Mail, all the British rags are running this. Apparently there was a secret funeral? There’s pictures and everything. Sounds like the royal family wanted you dead but didn’t want anyone to look too close at the body.”

Sophie gasped in shock. “Those inbred aristocrats never did like me. You know, it’s one thing to quietly kill off the family embarrassment, it’s quite another to not invite her to her own funeral!”


End file.
